


100 Things To Do With Your Body When You're All Alone

by illwynd



Category: Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, I Don't Even Know, Injury, M/M, Masturbation, One-Sided Attraction, Possibly Unrequited Love, Post-Avengers (2012)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 20:32:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18880717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illwynd/pseuds/illwynd
Summary: Loki agrees to work with the Avengers as a consultant. But what is his life on Midgard really like?





	100 Things To Do With Your Body When You're All Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another old-school Avengers 1 era fic. This was an alternative version I was working on to [Interesting Devices](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6612958).
> 
> The title was a line in Pump Up the Volume and I always wanted to use it for something. 
> 
> I'm not sure if there'll be more. Let's just play it by ear, shall we?

1\. Loki thinks about Midgard's past as he settles into his new apartment. The reek of goats and ale and leather, the mud, the darkness of the night skies in those days. He thinks about his own past as arranges the furnishings as he wants them. The chaos of his brief war. The bright glare of his dreams before they sputtered out like a bonfire in a downpour. He wonders if there is a point to this, if he will be here long enough for it to matter. He is not sure about this agreement at all. When he's done, he perches on the edge of his new sofa, uneasy, uncertain what to do.

2\. He declines the invitation tendered after the third time he provides his assistance. The ordinary mortals are afraid of him; the other heroes mistrust him. Thor's eyes flicker with both sadness and hope, neither of which Loki can stand. Loki forces a grin and tells them that he has better ways to spend his evenings than carousing. He goes home and feeds his fish.

3\. He flips through the channels. Stops when he hears his own name. There is footage of the Battle of New York in one corner of the screen, along with more recent images of the Avengers—a glow of magic here, a fleeting shadow there—and they are a little bit more effective than they might otherwise have been. One of the commentators speculates that their new ally could have done more, that he is holding back; Loki tunes out the voice-over then, shrugging to himself, and watches just long enough to catch a glimpse of Thor.

4\. When he is not serving as the Avengers' consultant in sorcery, trickery, and villainous thinking, he spends his time approximating the life of a modern Midgardian. He finds it interesting. Sometimes surprising. He finds ways to amuse himself, certainly.

5\. He acquires a credit card. Then he goes out and acquires many more things. The electronics store is a place of wonders—he wanders its aisles, astounded, until he spots a small plastic case with his brother's likeness blazoned on it. He ends up buying a video game console and a multitude of games. A second television to play them on, along with a sound system. Computers of various sizes. The mortals even offer to come to his apartment and make the devices ready for his use, which he allows, even though their presence in his space makes him realize that he truly ought to redecorate.

6\. There is a small restaurant a block away, never crowded, always dim and with a hum of news programs from the other side of the world; the proprietor listens to them, a shrewd look on his face that turns to surprise when once Loki comments on what he hears. (The Alltongue is useful.) Loki suspects the proprietor knows who he is, but he never mentions it. And Loki likes the food.

7\. When the Avengers cease inviting him along is the point at which Loki becomes curious. He conceals himself by magic and follows the rest of the team—a team he is not part of, of course, not truly—to a nightclub. He wades through the hazy air and the thumping music and the clink of glasses, stalking along behind them. He finds a place to perch where he can keep them in his sight, where he can tilt his head and listen to their laughter. He finds it oddly enjoyable, going unseen.

8\. When Thor excuses himself to the men’s room, Loki follows behind then as well. He supposes he should feel guilty for invading his brother’s privacy. But he doesn’t; years ago, when he first learned to conceal himself by magic he spent hours lurking in his brother’s chambers. Thor would have been furious, and that was half the fun; the other half was the pleasure of simply being in his presence without ever having to admit it. It is the same now, and he has missed it dearly. Sighing, he leans invisible against the tile as Thor zips up again.

9\. That night Loki curls tight around his pillow, but sleep eludes him for the longest time.

10\. Melancholy never clings to him. He won’t let it; it doesn’t suit him. The next day he accidentally misunderstands the mortals’ complaints—they tell him they need to get the innocent away from the scene yet cannot due to the state of traffic, he waves a hand and the next thing anyone knows, the skies of New York are full of flying vehicles piloted by idiots. Chaos ensues and it is all Loki can do not to break down in helpless laughter.

11\. Even when Thor comes to him afterward, scowling, he does not regret it. “They may not know when you are lying, brother, but I do.” There is disappointment in his eyes more than anything else, though, and Loki cannot help but squirm and turn away. “You knew that wasn’t what they meant.”

Loki makes a point to just shrug. “My apologies. I must have been distracted.”

12\. No one invites him along that night, and he’s happier for it. He doesn’t want to be welcomed out of some misplaced sense of duty, or because he is Thor’s brother, as if they were all children being told to play nicely.

He drops a pinch of flake into the water and watches his fish go madly after it. When he tires of that, at least he has the internet.

13\. The internet proves even better than the electronics store. Within three days, everything he has ordered is piled up on his doorstep in smiling brown boxes. For his  _redecorating_. He found several pieces that were more to his taste than the bland Midgardian fiberboard furniture SHIELD had provided. Things a bit more Asgardian in style, a bit more like what he’s used to. Metal and stone and gleaming black lacquer.

14\. He realizes that his brand-new poster collection does not fit with it, stylistically speaking, but it doesn’t matter. It is not as if he plans to entertain visitors here. And the artistic, high-contrast print of his brother, the shocking red of his cape blown out behind him and lightning casting his powerful form in silhouette—Loki hangs it across from his bed, because he likes to look at it before he sleeps. He doesn’t need to explain himself to anyone.

15\. Just as he does not explain himself when his old allies inquire. He doubts any of them are genuinely concerned about his wellbeing after his inexplicable change of heart—loss of backbone, as a few of them term it. Some even have the gall to sneer at him openly, calling him the Avengers’ lapdog.

“Consultant,” he corrects them, with a tense smile, trying to remember any reasons why he should not flay them alive, if they are villains and now he is not. But either way he owes them no justifications.

16\. One of the posters on his wall is a blowup of Thor striding down the center of a street in the middle of a downpour, hammer dangling from his fist, head low, damp-darkened hair hanging in his face. When Loki saw the image he had to have it; he remembers that day. It is the last day they fought on opposite sides. The day Thor asked him, the hope in his eyes faded almost to darkness, to let their conflict cease. Loki almost cannot believe that this image exists. That someone took this photo of his brother in that moment, and that now it is his.

17. _“Very well,” Loki said, and his voice felt small in his throat. Thor’s feet carried him another two paces before he stopped with eyes wide._

_“What?”_

_“I said... yes,” Loki repeated, heart pounding._

_They stared at each other in silence as rain continued to fall._

_“But only here. I won’t go back to Asgard. I will be your ally here; that is my offer. Take it or leave it,” Loki hastened to amend when his mind caught up with what his mouth had done._

He’s still not sure why he gave in at all.

18\. He asks himself that question far more on days like these, days where he is _not_ called upon to render aid to the heroes, which at least keeps him busy and gives him the opportunity to amuse himself in sneaky little ways that calm the itch within him.

Days like these he has time to mull over his situation. Though he would really rather not.

19\. He ought to have some scheme in mind, some hidden plot festering away only to one day ooze into the light and make everything he’s done make sense. He doesn’t. He tries to come up with one but doesn’t get very far. Every idea he has bores him, annoys him. When that fails he sits on his sofa—redecorating bowed to comfort in this area—running through the spells he knows, sparking them between his hands.

He ought to have some excuse.

20\. He doesn’t mind that the Avengers have stopped inviting him along with them outside of their work. He does mind that Thor has stopped asking to visit.

He would still say no, of course. But it bothers him that Thor no longer asks.

21\. There is a half a box of cold pizza on the table, a bottle of some overly sweetened beverage beside it. He needs no one’s company. He needs no one. He sets the game controller on his knee and lets it buzz there, death coming courtesy of his distraction, as he presses his palms to his eyes.

22\. There is always one recourse for boredom and loneliness, and he takes it eventually. He doesn’t bother with any indulgences. Just shoves Midgardian denim a few inches down his hips, spits in his hand, and strokes. Quick and almost mindless.

23\. He gave in because of what he feels for Thor. It is his secret, and it has torn him in so many different directions over the years, he should not be surprised that it has gotten him into this. Being in love with his brother has inspired everything in him from nights where he conjured a soundless space in which to scream to… well, to his attempts on Thor’s life. He has never claimed to be good. What he’s doing now is surely no less deviant. He imagines only a few moments of one of his favorite fantasies before he has come, semen gushing over his hand and dribbling down his fingers.

24\. In the afterglow—if it can be called that, recovering from such a sordid act as masturbating to the idea of his brother bound naked to a bed—he sighs and wipes up hastily.

25\. Of course, it solves nothing. It never does. His mood is not improved, and he is just as listless, just as bored. He is just as burdened, only now the arousal is fled. What is left in its place is longing—simpler wants, the sort that always made him willing to put up with almost anything to be at Thor’s side. He hates that he still feels that. He hates that it is more or less the reason he gave in.

26\. A few idle internet searches—a conscious effort to toss his dissatisfaction aside like a wadded-up tissue—and he has before him page after page of sites. He gets more specific. Within 20 minutes he is staring at the inventory of a shop, eyes wide, on the verge of maniac laughter. Items he could have never imagined existed—and not only are they there on display for his eyes, they are available for purchase and speedy, discreet delivery.

27\. He makes use of the credit card again. The next few days—days of waiting for his packages to arrive—are pure anticipatory bliss.

28\. He unboxes them from their plain wrapping all with the giddiness of a child, staring at many of his acquisitions and curiously fondling a few more. By the time he’s sorted through everything, he is nearly buried in packing bubbles and scraps of cardboard, and he is grinning to himself.

29\. A few days later there is a meeting between the Avengers and SHIELD, and as a consultant Loki is asked to attend. He does so, but he can barely keep his attention on what is being said. Tony Stark undoubtedly was greatly in need of several boxes of what the websites termed “male enhancers,” given his penchant for developing metal suits to augment his form. Likewise, the five-gallon tub of erotic lubricant would surely be appreciated by a man such as Banner. By the looks they are throwing his way, it seems likely their “gifts” have arrived. Loki wonders if they will thank him later.

30\. Thor picks up on the tension, eyeing Loki, hand to Loki’s shoulder to stop him from departing when the meeting ends.

Loki gives him a little shrug, and Thor’s brows come together like a thunderhead. But the scene is all so terribly familiar. He rolls his eyes once they are alone. “It’s hardly the worst I could have done.”

“But why must you do any such thing at all?” Thor demands.

Loki laughs mirthlessly. “I agreed to be your ally, not theirs. I’d rather they didn’t forget that.”

Thor’s frown deepens.

31\. This time it is others who must suffer his presence to have Thor’s company. Loki comforts himself with that notion when he wanders back to his apartment alone.

32\. He lies on his bed that night, eyes open, staring up at the ceiling. He listens to the sounds of traffic and the occasional faint noises from his neighbors. He does not fit here. He plays at this life but the shape of it constrains him and chafes him at once; the mortals cringe away from the villain that he is, and within himself he feels like a pet, like he has let himself be tamed.

33\. When he is just on the edge of sleep, his mind slips back to the battles, just him and Thor. All his hatred and anger and envy lashed together into a weapon with which to at last defend himself. That was what it felt like.

34\. He doubts that Thor would have described it thus, but the sharp little thought slips silently away as memories merge into dreams and the battle goes on, intense, a storm growing around them. He dazes Thor with a quickly muttered spell and makes the most of his brief advantage by drawing a blade and stabbing his brother with it. He shudders as it penetrates, slipping through Thor’s armor as if he were wearing nothing but silk. But Thor is not so easily defeated.

Snarling, bleeding, his face full of bitterness and rage, he hurls Loki against a wall and calls down lightning, and Loki shouts for joy when it strikes him several times in quick succession, jolting through him from head to toe, until his throat is so tense the sound comes out ragged.

35\. In the morning the sun shines in his eyes and wakes him. He pulls the covers up over his face and groans. He groans again when he finds they are stuck to him below.

36\. He answers the Avengers’ call that day, and he attempts to aid them as he has promised. But their anger at him—over a trivial prank, really—has made them distrust him, and that makes them hesitate when he shouts instructions through the din, and soon it is all one much greater mess than it ever needed to be.

And then it goes so badly that he is stretched thin, trying to put out too many fires at once, trying not to let the cursing over the communicator distract him, and he doesn’t notice the dark shape coming out of the sky before it is too late.

37\. He wakes in a bed that is not his own, and this time it is his eyelids that are stuck shut, and he groans from pain, not mere discomfort. There is a curious sensation at his elbow and another spot along the arm that lies atop the covers, and it takes him a moment to realize that it is the sensation of Midgardian medicine being done to him. He sighs through his nose, heavily, distasteful, and braces for the heightened pain and wooziness as he moves.

He has the wires yanked off his skin and the tubes pulled out of his veins before anyone arrives to stop him.

38\. He wakes the second time in yet a different bed, but this one he does not feel such an instant urge to leave. Perhaps in the back of his mind he knows that the reason is the smell: a familiar odor, just beneath consciousness. It makes him wish almost to simply lie there and rest.

His mind clears enough then to realize he is in Thor’s bed. He opens his eyes slowly, afraid to frighten this reality away.

39\. “I tried to tell them you would not take to it well,” Thor says, sitting on the bed beside him and looking down at him with a warmth Loki had thought long lost. “They listened to me only after you broke one of their nurses’ noses. Only then did they believe that you would heal just as well on your own, in more comfortable environs.”

Loki lies still, because Thor asked him and because he _does_ still hurt. He can feel Thor smiling fondly upon him and he has never known a sweeter ache.

40\. It becomes more awkward when he does feel better, though. By the second day he is more or less mended, and he vaguely recalls his brother having watched over him while he slept and having helped him to sip water when he woke thirsty and having assured him that the creatures that had thus harmed him had paid with their lives, and he would have liked to be able to shrug it off, but he cannot, because Thor is not there to hear his denials.

41\. In his absence, the late-afternoon sun slanting in through the window glass, Loki wanders from room to room. His bare feet pad on fine hardwood as he peers at every object his brother possesses in this realm.

He also denies, to himself, feeling any longing or loneliness there in the empty silence. Instead he is thinking. Planning. Memorizing. He really ought to know the layout of his brother’s dwelling, after all.

42\. He very nearly departs before Thor can return, but something restrains him. He soon sees his error.

“We must talk, brother,” Thor says when he finds Loki perched on an armchair in the chamber with the television.

Loki does not see any way to wiggle free, so he waves a hand in acceptance. Thor then begins by complaining, in a sad voice, that he knows not what to do.

“Is it truly so difficult for you not to make enemies of everyone? Must I truly forever dread the day you at last make it impossible to remain allies with them at all?”

Loki meets his gaze and feels the sickness of his own smile. “Probably, brother,” he says, with quiet resignation.

For a minute he lets Thor tug him close, fingers curled possessively around the edge of his neck; he lets Thor look him over as if drinking in the sight of him whole and well again. Then he slips out of Thor’s grasp.

43\. Once he gets back to his own rooms, he draws out the stolen garments and lays them on the bed. Two t-shirts, one grey, one red. He flops atop them, puts them to his face, and breathes. They still smell of Thor.

It won’t last, this truce. Thor was right about that. All the more reason for Loki to get everything he can while it does.

44\. He strips down to his skin. There are new scars—they will remain, at least for a while—and there is a feeling of sickness in his belly. A feeling of dread. He lies upon his bed, the dark green satin sheets he had acquired at some expense, and rubs his hands across his own flesh, feeling that he appears far too pale. He pinches the slack skin of his stomach. Slaps his own thigh, hard enough to leave a pink handprint.

45\. His most shameful possession… he had found it not on the internet, but instead in a small shop in a part of the city he had spent little time in, filled with comics and small poseable statues and plush dolls. And, one his eye had met upon with shock, elongated pillowcases decorated with artistic depictions of various personages. Loki had stared at it when he saw it. Then, abruptly, he had left the establishment.

He had gone back in again an hour later, in the form of a young girl, the sort who might believably be enamored and willing to be seen making such a purchase, and bought it.

And now he buries his face in it, the—what had they called it?—the body pillow with Thor’s image upon it.

46\. Loki lies there in a nest of pillows and t-shirts and misery, until he feels a need to continue with the inevitable.

Several of his other purchases from before, the strange rubbery things of impressive sizes and shapes, and the bottle of pearly lubricant, and Loki selects one and slicks it and spreads his knees and presses it home, head turned aside and biting his lip, thinking about what he’s doing as little as possible.

He squeezes the pillow to his face. Buries his nose in the t-shirt. Breathes.

47\. He hates this, because his body takes it in, and as he rocks his hips a little bit it feels _good_. But it is not enough, and it is not what he wants, and he doesn’t want to be doing this at all. It is merely physical. It is empty. It is nerves that are not him, enjoying things he has not chosen. It is humiliating.

48\. There is half a moment, a scintillating brightness, when he is aware of how lonely he is, and how alone.

It ends in tears, in the dark, with the sensation of pulling out something unfeeling, leaving wet trails along his skin.

49\. All of his limbs are wrapped around the long, silky pillow before he falls asleep, and when he does it is to slip into dreams of a wholly different time. Scents of goats and woodsmoke, of sweat and hay. Dreams of long ago, of a journey to Midgard when he and Thor were only children.

He and Thor had gotten up to great mischief, hand in hand.

Loki can hear their laughter still.

50\. It is not yet dawn when he rises. The sky is only just starting to shade into blue from black; beyond the window glass, the stars are quietly flickering out.

He moves around his apartment, putting things to rights, beginning another day. He makes his bed, smoothing the sheet over the pillow he will never admit to owning. Washing up, with a sigh.

He stands before his aquarium for a while, entranced at the little world under its artificial light, the constant hum of the filter, the bubbler bubbling away. The water plants swaying. The wide, reflective eye.

He tips a little bit of brightly colored flake onto the surface and watches as the fish seek down every scrap.

It is a strange little world, but he supposes he is bound to it now.


End file.
